Page 55 of Spearcrest Knight

“Nothing is right,” I sigh, following his gaze to the crowd. The Sophie-less, pointless crowd. "Let’s just get fucked up tonight.”

Sev finally meets my gaze and gives me a grin: his signature Sev grin, full of French arrogance. He raises his beer bottle, tipping the neck towards me. “A la tienne.”

I clink my bottle to his and we both drink—and keep drinking.

Sev is a good person to get fucked with because he can hold his alcohol and at the same time alcohol brings out the more belligerent, ostentatious aspects of his personality. By the time I realise we’re drunk, we’re both holding bottles of red wine and lying half-slumped into lavender bushes. The music surrounds us, and the crowd moves to the beat like an ocean, rising and falling.

“What really pisses me off—” Sev is shouting over the music, his French accent ten times more pronounced now he’s drunk, “is she’s acting as if she’s, I don’t know, so bored with the whole thing. I told her to do what she’s told—I told her how things work here. But she just acts like she doesn’t give a shit about any of it! She acts like she’s not even interested inknowingme. Can you fucking believe that shit?”

“I thought you didn’t want her to follow you around like a puppy?” I shout back, trying to keep his face in focus “Isn’t that what you said at the beginning of the year? I don’t want her to follow me around like a puppy—comme un, a, a…chienne?”

I’m pretty sure that barely counts as French, and Sev shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand.

“Comme un toutou!” he shouts back, but I have no idea what that means, so I just stare blankly at him. Clearly my contribution to this conversation is unnecessary, because he continues anyway. “I don’t want her to follow me aroundcomme un toutou! It’s the modicum of respect to try and at least come to me, to—it’s not likeI’mmarrying intoherfamily, for fuck’s sake.She’smarrying intomine. It’smyname she’s after, so why the fuck does she think she doesn’t have to listen to a thing I say, or—it’s the disrespect, you know?”

I nod vigorously.

Sev is a lot more worked up about this fiancée situation than I thought. After all his talk about not wanting this girl to follow him around and steal away all his freedom to do what he pleases and fuck around—Sev’s favourite thing to do—I can’t understand why he isn’t happy she’s left him alone.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I know exactly why.

“Maybe you should just go ahead and fuck the shit out of her!” I shout in Sev’s face.

“Fuck her? And let her think for one second that I want her?” Sev’s face goes red. “Mieux vos la mort!”

I have no idea what he’s saying—something about death, which does not bode well—but since his fiancée is French, I’m sure she’ll be able to handle his bilingual wrath better than me.

“You wouldn’t be doing it because you want her, though,” I explain slowly, working out what I mean as I speak. “You’d be doing it to remind her of her place here. She won’t dare disobey or disrespect you if you fuck her into submission. Right?”

Sev’s cheeks are flushed, but he’s nodding now. I can tell he likes the idea. Grim determination draws his thick black eyebrows together. “Yes—yes, you’re right, man!”

Before I can say anything to convince him, he’s struggled upright from our lavender bush and is standing in front of me, sweeping his hair back with one hand. “She's my fucking toy—why shouldn't I play with her?”

Looks like Sev doesn't need to be talked into this idea, because he's clearly only too happy to talk himself into it. “Right—exactly.”

I extend my hand to him, hoping he can help me up, but he’s already striding away in a determined zigzag. He disappears into the darkness of the peace garden and I sigh and roll myself up.

Time to go latch on to another Young King and inspire him to action, since I’m powerless to do anything about the thingsIwant.

I’m walking slowly and carefully back to the gazebo when I spot a face in the corner of my vision. I stumble to an abrupt stop and turn my head so fast I almost pull a neck muscle.

The world crystallises. Have I blacked out and woken up into some sort of dream?

Because right there, standing amongst the trees a little away from the broad flagstone paths, is Sophie fucking Sutton.

She looks good, too. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen her in a dress, but the look still screams rule-abiding prefect with the personality of an uptight librarian: black fabric, square neckline, long sleeves. Her hair is loose on her shoulders, the lustrous brown strands too thick and heavy to fly in the wind.

She’s standing with Araminta, the girl from my Science class. They are holding hands and dancing to the music, with Sophie twirling Araminta around then catching her by her waist.

I veer in their direction. My mind has gone blank—blank except for the single thought of Sophie, and Sophie’s long brown hair, and Sophie’s waist in my arms and her thighs around my hips. I walk with grim determination.

Tonight, I’m going to put my hands on Sophie. I don’t care what excuse I find, or how weird I might come across. But tonight—as soon as possible, in fact—I’m going to touch Sophie.

A blur of pink and gold fills my vision, blocking Sophie from my sight and stopping me in my tracks. I look down and let out a sigh of barely repressed frustration.

“What do you want, Rosenthal?”

Seraphina Rosenthal, the Rose of Spearcrest, stands in front of me with wide doll eyes and an innocent smile on her face. She’s wearing a bright pink corset stitched with dozens of actual roses, a puff of tulle skirts, fishnet tights and combat boots.

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